Tales of the Fading Light
by Project-S Team
Summary: The Sylvarant Dynasty has been defeated by the Desians. The world is scared and uncertain about the future. But hope still lies, for on the day of the oracle, a light pierces the heavens...
1. The End of an Era

Disclaimer: The **Project-S Team**, which is comprised of FanFiction users **Digital Dimension**, **Chang-Tong**, **FurudeRika**, and **noa748**, does not own Tales of Symphonia or any other related and/or licensed material.

Any original characters were produced by the members of **PST**.

* * *

_**Tales of the Fading Light**_

_**Prologue: The End of an Era**_

The year was AKW 3200; Thirty-two hundred years after the Kharlan War.

The world of Sylvarant had been through a golden age for over an entire century. Such economic flourish was almost unheard of in history. It had been ages since the evil Desians had been vanquished by the Chosen of Mana, and the world was left at peace.

Warring states were a thing of the past. While there had been a large power struggle after the Chosen's successful endeavor, all groups eventually found themselves too weak to make a valid nation. Therefore, in the year AKW 2954, the groups of the world combined their power to form what would be the greatest economic superpower that Sylvarant would ever know.

This was the birth of the Sylvarant Dynasty.

The dynasty covered most of the world, leaving only the western continent of Triet and the unexplored islands in the great oceans out of its borders. It was unchallengeable in agricultural and scientific knowledge. Currency was not scarce, and poverty was a rarity.

It was the greatest society in the world's history… but everything changed at the beginning of the thirty-third century.

In the autumn of 3200, the Desians reappeared. Boasting an advanced army of thousands, they quickly lay waste to many of the dynasty's garrisons and forts around the world. Crop fields were burnt, cities were destroyed, and civilians were killed or captured.

It was terrible... but it was only the beginning.

Anyone with a decent education knew that the Desians only had one true purpose, and that was to control the world and plunge it into destruction. To do this, they had to endure for untold amounts of time and use up the world's mana in their prison-like bases called human ranches.

However, there was one well known way to eliminate the Desians. The Chosen of Mana, usually the youngest of the Mana Lineage, had to release the seals across the world and at the Tower of Salvation. It is there that the Angels of Cruxis would restore the world and banish the Desians for the next ages.

During the war with the Desians, the Sylvarant Dynasty's leader, Emperor Johan III, decided that it would be best if the Chosen was kept safely inside the Martel Cathedral in the dynasty's capitol of Arlee. Emperor Johan never once believed that the Desians would reach Arlee. The capitol was well defended by the garrison at Luin and Fort Talos to the north, as well as Fort Migards to the south. Surely, he thought, the Desians can never break through such strong defenses.

In the winter of 3201, both forts and the garrison at Luin were annihilated. All remaining forces built up in Arlee. Every able man was given the best sword and armor he could have, though it was hardly enough. The Desians had grown into a force of over ten thousand since their arrival, having rallied the oppressed half-elves of the world to their cause.

It was the first day of spring, AKW 3201, when the Desians marched on Arlee.

* * *

From one of the Imperial Palace's many windows, a boy watched the scene of destruction below. It was a horrific sight for him to behold. The Desians were encroaching into every corner of the lower level, littering the air with screams of the innocent. The boy's face was wrought with terror, his eyes unable to tear away from the sight of the soldiers killing and dying. It was like a sea of blue and silver crashing bloodily into a larger surge of red and ebon.

On the graying field out beyond Arlee's walls, a large orb appeared, causing the rest of the drab landscape to obscure and darken around it. Suddenly, the orb left the ground, taking to the clouded sky with fervor. No doubt, it was a ball of flame from a Desian siege mortar. Many had already flown over the city and done their damage, and now this one was to add its piece.

The boy, a young servant of the Emperor, followed the fireball as it made its way up and down again. It flew with almost unnatural grace until it smashed itself into the Martel Cathedral's bell tower. A loud gong of a noise broke through the now monotonous screams, as if informing the entire city that everyone in the upper half of the tower was now dead.

"Neville!" a voice penetrated the boy's concentration. "Get away from there!"

The boy, Neville, turned back to the door, where the voice had come from. There he saw Captain Cashiel Dantius of the Imperial Guard. Instantly, the child burst into tears and ran to the knight and wrapped himself around the man's armored leg. The silver greave was little comfort, but it was better than the window's horrors.

"Captain! W-What are we going to do?!" the ten-year-old cried, his teary black eyes looking up to the tall man with frightened emotion.

Cashiel reached down and loosened the boy from his shin. "Don't worry. We're getting out of here. Now, tell me, where is the Emperor?"

Neville contained himself with a sniffle, though it did little to eliminate the traces of snot from his face or from Cashiel's armor. "Yes, sir. His majesty said he had something to do in his bedroom. He told me not to disturb him."

Cashiel turned to see the door to the Emperor's private bedroom slightly ajar. He made his way over to the door, his armor giving a clank for every step he took. Neville watched in apprehensive awe as the captain swung the door open to the bedroom and started to call out.

"Your Majest-!!" Cashiel's words froze and cut into a gasp. The captain stood still for a moment, as if unsure what to do. His actions became hesitant. He attempted to enter the room, but backed off at the last moment.

Neville took this most uncertainly. The youngster slowly started toward the doorway, but Cashiel jerked the wooden access shut with a slam. Neville stopped, shocked by the sudden act.

"Come. Let us leave this place." the man said with solemnly, motioning for Neville to follow as he turned to leave the Emperor's chambers.

"But… W-What about Emperor Johan?" the boy asked as he ran to catch up with Cashiel. "Captain Dantius?"

Cashiel merely looked back at the boy, his blue eyes void of emotion. "I regret to say it, but His Majesty will not be joining us."

Neville gave the knight a look of distressed disbelief, but a sudden shake of the palace floor caused him to quicken his pace. He did not want to leave the Emperor, but he was too frightened to leave Cashiel's side.

The journey from the top of the palace to its grand entrance hall was rather uneventful. The palace shook a few times, and the cries outside never seemed to let up, but the upper halls themselves looked untouched by everything. Sitting atop the mountain that Arlee was built against, the palace stood mostly out of the reach of the Desian siege machines. That did not stop them from trying to hit it, though.

Upon arriving at the entrance hall, the smell of smoke, metal, and blood became most apparent. It filled Neville with a heavy nausea, causing him to stumble at the bottom of the stairs.

A loud set of clanks resounded as Cashiel did a double-take and brought the servant boy back to his feet. "Come now. This is not the place for a stop." the blond man told the queasy boy before turning back to the entrance hall. He found his squad of soldiers waiting for him with a heard of servants and a few misplaced nobles and retainers. They watched him expectantly, noticing the lack of royalty in their presence.

"Captain Dantius, where is His Majesty?" a helmeted lieutenant asked as he met the approaching two.

"Not now, Lieutenant. Did you get the other blue-bloods to the cathedral?"

The lieutenant nodded. "Yes sir, but…"

"Is this the entire palace residence?" Cashiel interrupted, glancing almost nervously at the crowd of worried people. He noticed Neville running over to his mother, whom was a maid in the palace.

"I'm not sure, but these people have taken refuge here and are begging for our protection." the helmeted man reported uneasily.

"Has the fighting reached the upper levels yet?" Cashiel questioned as he walked into the center of the room.

"No, sir, but the garrison on the lower levels is taking heavy casualties." the lesser soldier informed his superior. "We have sniper-class archers in tall buildings and along the overlooking walls. I here they're keeping us in the fight at the moment..."

Cashiel shot a short glare at the lieutenant, shutting him up immediately. He then looked at the group of civilians, which was focused on him as if he were a crier in some backwater village. Not a single word was being uttered, leaving only the noises from outside.

"Now, listen up!" Cashiel called in a commanding tone. "I am Captain Dantius of the Imperial Guard. These men and I are going to take you all to the Martel Cathedral. From there, you will be able to escape to the catacombs and then out of the city." he informed the people.

As they all started whispering about the possibility of escape, Cashiel turned to the soldiers. Unlike himself, they were not members of the Imperial Guard. These men were just a leaderless group that had lost their leader to a fireball at the siege's start. Being a guardsman, as well as a captain, he easily outranked them. Before Cashiel could deliver orders to the men, however, the lieutenant made his way to the blond's ear.

"Sir, where is the Emperor?" the helmeted man asked gravely, as he and the rest of the men began to tense up, expecting the most horrible news.

Cashiel took a deep breath, closing his eyes and running his metal-covered hand through the back of his neck-length blond hair. "His Majesty has abandoned us." he claimed as he opened his eyes, pointing them away from any of the men. There was a tinge of sadness, or maybe guilt, but there was also anger. Walking past the lieutenant and through the gathered squad, Cashiel began giving orders.

"Rafael, Reyson, Janaff, you're with me on the door. Oliver, Lekain, Hetzel, you guide the crowd to the cathedral." he commanded as he drew his steel blade from its spot on his back. He then turned to the helmeted lieutenant. "And you take the rear."

The men took their positions and got ready to make the trip to the cathedral. It was not a particularly long journey, as the holy place was on the upper level, not a moment's jaunt from the palace. Unfortunately, there was no telling if the Desians were going to break into the upper level soon. It was also possible that they had already broken through.

"Ready men? We go on three." Cashiel affirmed. "One… Two… Three!"

Cashiel and Rafael shoved the palace doors open, jabbing their swords out into the blood-thick air. The instant room was made, Reyson and Janaff charged through the passage. The former stayed on the stoop, while the latter took a leap to the bottom of the short flight of stairs. Both, however, took notice that the royal level was just as they had left it. There were soldiers and members of the Imperial Guard standing about, ready to defend the palace.

Cashiel and Rafael, followed by Reyson, descended the steps as the captain motioned for the civilian group to move up.

"Sir, what's going on?" one of the guardsmen, a commander, asked Cashiel as he passed by.

Cashiel held his hand up, stopping his entire group, before looking at the guardsman. "What is the status of the upper level?"

"The Desians are attempting to break through the gate as we speak, sir. We do not know how long we have until they break through."

Cashiel nodded, taking in the information. "I see. Tell your men to follow us down. We are escorting what's left of the servants to the Martel Cathedral… In fact, I could use some of your men if front of the cathedral. The rest of you need to join the main formations."

"But, sir… What about the palace? The Emperor?" the commander asked, his voice touched by surprise.

"To my knowledge, the palace is void of the living." Cashiel informed the guardsman. "The Emperor has abandoned us. Now, do as I say. We need to make sure the civilians have time to escape. If you feel that they are overwhelming you, fall back and defend the cathedral until you're sure the civilians have made it away. Barricade the doors and then escape yourselves. Make sure they cannot follow you."

After a short moment of hesitation, the commander conceded. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on that."

Cashiel responded with another nod before motioning for his group to follow.

With swiftness only found in times of need and fear, the large group made its way down from the royal level and onto the upper level. There, Cashiel and his men took a right while the soldiers and knights from the royal level joined the battle-ready formation. Every few moments, a loud crash resounded through the city as the Desians tried to break through the large gate fruitlessly.

"Inside, quickly!" Cashiel told the front civilians as he and Janaff pushed the doors open. The heard made is way inside hastily, keeping two-wide for the most part.

Suddenly, as the civilian line was about three quarters in, a wailing crack was heard, followed by twin slams of the metal on stone.

"They've breached the gate!!"

All at once, battle cries went out, snipers released their arrows, and squad leaders began barking simple-yet-effective orders. The civilians started screaming, and similar screams came from inside the cathedral as well.

"Sir, what shall we do?!" Rafael cried to Cashiel over the confusion and clangs.

"Stay out here and lead the defense of the cathedral! Make sure nothing gets inside until the civilians are away, got it!?"

"Y-Yes, sir!" the soldier acknowledged with a quick nod.

The instant the helmeted lieutenant, who had been bringing up there rear as Cashiel had ordered, was inside, Cashiel motioned for Janaff to join the formation. The soldier nodded and did so, allowing for the captain to duck inside the holy place and haul the large doors closed.

Inside the Martel Cathedral, everything was different than it was outside. The place of worship lined with pews, seats for the service-goers on normal days, which lined off into the darkness of the unlit chapel. In the center of the chapel was a statue of the goddess lined with lit candles, so that she could be seen at all times. She shone with a golden radiance that seemed fitting for this time of need.

At the goddess's base, where the altar was, the line of civilians were trailing around the statue, no doubt being led to the catacombs by Oliver, Lekain, and Hetzel. Nearby, the flamboyantly adorned Archbishop Alexander II stood, giving his prayers of safety to the people as they passed.

As he strode down the aisle, two sentries barricading the doors behind him, Cashiel also noticed a young black haired girl standing behind the Archbishop. She was dressed in a seamless white robe that managed to show off her status. He knew this girl well, for she was the young Chosen of Mana. She attended all the church services and led the prayers at public events. From now on, though, her job was much more complicated…

…and much more tragic.

"Captain, sir!" the helmeted lieutenant turned around, saluting Cashiel. It was an unexpected measure, done completely out of respect. The soldier was asking for permission to leave.

Cashiel returned the salute. "Make sure they make it to safety."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the lesser officer responded, flattered, before turning back to the crowd and following them towards the passages to the catacombs. From there, they would be able to escape to towards Palmacosta and other places.

"Captain Dantius." the Archbishop's old, withered voice said his name calmly. The only ones left in the chapel proper were he, the captain, and an assortment of the Holy Guard. The Holy Guard was a sec of gold-armored knights that saw to the Archbishop's and the Chosen's personal safety.

Cashiel faced the old man and took to a knee, bowing his head to the church leader. "Yes, Archbishop? What is your request?" he asked, exhibiting pure politeness.

"Captain, what has happened to Emperor Jonas? He was not with your group." the old sage's question hit the silver clad knight like a probe into his soul. The matter was intensified by the old man's grave look. His overbearing glare was backed up by the goddess, Martel's, holy gaze. They were both looks that Cashiel did not have the will or wit to meet.

"The Emperor… He committed suicide in his bed, Archbishop." Cashiel reported, strain holding the words back for a short moment. He had not wanted to say it in such a way, but the pressure from the holy eyes upon him was too much to bear.

"…" the Archbishop closed his eyes and let off an inward groan, not opening his mouth. This, accompanied by the small gasp of the young Chosen, was enough to fill Cashiel with the guilt he had been suppressing.

"There…" he hesitated, feeling slightly humiliated in his predicament. "…is nothing that I can do to make up for this failure, My Lo-"

"Silence, Captain!" the Archbishop demanded, throwing his hand over the younger man. "You are not to blame for this incident. It is the Emperor's fault for not being able to handle his fate. He was a vain and ungifted man, unfit to rule in this time of need." the elderly man said, his tone full of judgment and controlled fury. He then turned and began to walk around the statue, the girl going after him.

"Archbishop…" Cashiel started, rather shocked at the elder's choice of words, but his voice failed him before he could say anything. With a deep breath that seemed to take the guilt from him, if only partially, he pushed himself to his feet and followed after the holy man and his clinging sacred icon.

"We are short of time, Captain." the Archbishop told Cashiel as he rounded to the darker side of the chapel. Everything back here took light from either the windows or the small amount of residual light from the statue's candles. "Everything we thought would last has been taken, and with the death of the Emperor combined with the fall of this city, the dynasty will fall into discord."

Cashiel watched the Archbishop as he glanced around the dark room spacefully. "May I ask what you mean, Archbishop?"

Archbishop Alexander did not even spare a look at the knight. He just kept his gaze roaming whilst scratching at his long white beard, as if he was trying to remember something by looking at the room around him. The small Chosen never left his side. She was, in fact, actually doing the same thing her elderly counterpart was doing.

"Our time is ending, mine and Johan's." the Archbishop claimed somberly, referring to the deceased emperor by his assumed name. "We can only pray that those that come next are more… more brave, more able, less decrepit. I am too old for battle, but I can still set this into motion…"

Cashiel was getting worried for old Alexander. Had he lost his mind, as well? "My Lord, are you well? We need to escape into the catacombs. We must get you and the Chosen to safety before-!"

"Safety?" the Archbishop turned to give Cashiel a most dubious look one could conceive. "There is no true safety along those paths. It is likely many will perish on the route to Palmacosta, and Desians have likely taken the entire Migards area as their own. I cannot allow such perils to befall our last hope."

Cashiel was once again shocked by the church leader's words. "Last hope? You mean…" Cashiel's eyes wander down to the youthful girl, whom was looking up at the elder with her large ice-blue eyes. There were signs of lost tears in her eyes, but, aside from that, she was perfectly untouched. Her face was full of fright and confusion, just like Neville's had been earlier.

"Yes…" the Archbishop said, stepping from the raised section of the floor that held the altar and the statue. "Now, it should be…" he tapped the golden scepter he had been holding on the floor. It made a hollow, echoing thud, as if the large marble tile he had hit was only an inch or so thick and there was open air beneath it. "Ah!" the holy man called, getting down on his knees, discarding the scepter, and prying at something on the floor.

Before Cashiel could go over to see what the old man was doing, the sound of what could have been running sand came to ears. It was the tile's mortar filing away from the marble slab. A few moments later, the sound was replaced by some pained grunts from Alexander. Realizing what was going on, Cashiel rushed over and helped the old man lift the large piece.

Below, there was a hole that seemed to descend into the bowels of the Earth. There was only a small flicker of light at the pit's bottom, but Cashiel was unsure of it was even real or not.

Alexander put his hand on the captain's shoulder and gave it a pull. "Take this way. It is a secret path that leads towards Hima. From there, you must make your way to Iselia by way of the Great Bridge. The Desians may not have taken it yet."

"Yes, My Lord, but what about you?" Cashiel asked a question that had been weighing heavily on the Archbishop's mind. Sadly, he already knew the answer.

"I must stay and be your scapegoat." the old man admitted sorrowfully. "Perhaps that… Perhaps I can throw them off your trail."

"Archbishop…" the old man's words once again shook Cashiel. "Did you not just say that you are too old for this sort of thing?" the knight asked, praying that the church leader would reconsider his decision.

The Archbishop turned away from Cashiel, looking up to the statue to seek the Martel's grace. She would give it no matter which way it faced. "There is a broad line between battle and bravery, Captain Dantius. Some would say that I am fit for neither, but I believe that such a matter is left between the goddess and me."

Suddenly, the quiet peace of the cathedral was broken by a loud ram against the door. Both men in the darkness behind the statue looked to the door sentries for an explanation.

"The Desians are breaking through!!" one of the men cried as they both put shoulders to the doors. Some of the larger Holy Guard knights ran up to assist them, lining the shut passage with armor.

"There is no time for delay! The Desians must not see you!" Alexander asserted to the captain. "Take the Chosen and leave! There are aid stations along the passage that should ease your way."

Cashiel looked at the Archbishop, then at the young Chosen. She was shivering, staring frightfully at the door as it was crashed against every few seconds. Then, he looked into the deep passage and the old wooden ladder that led down into its maw. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said a short prayer for the future.

"Captain?" the Archbishop called to Cashiel, wondering why he was not yet moving.

Cashiel responded by opening his eyes, newfound resolve evident. "Very well, Archbishop."

Alexander breathed a quick sigh of relief before turning to the Chosen. "Come here, Nerine!" he called her name loud enough to get her attention.

The black haired girl tore her attention from the door and rushed over to the man, tears brimming in her eyes. "Uncle?" she said in a worried pitch. The word came by Cashiel as slightly pitiful, but he could not truly blame her.

The powerful Archbishop had suddenly changed from one of the most influential men in the world to a kindly old man. "I need you to go with Captain Dantius. He is going to take you away from here to where it's safe." Alexander requested, his voice fitting of being the girl's trusted guardian, not to mention her friend.

"B-But what about you, Uncle? Aren't you coming, too?" young Nerine asked, on the verge of bursting into tears. No doubt she had been through the most traumatic day of her life.

"We shall meet again, I swear to you." he assured the frightened girl, knowing full well that it was a lie.

Almost as if sensing the falseness of his words, Nerine threw herself at the Archbishop, openly sobbing. The two embraced in a sad clasp, filling the air with a gauche feeling of peace. The peace was broken too quickly, however, as the Desians assaulted the doors once again, this time knocking a few of the men holding them in place. They corrected themselves immediately, though, not wanting to allow a strike to hit the doors without a full defense up.

Keeping his grasp on the girl after the crash, Alexander swiftly handed her off to Cashiel, whom had climbed onto the ladder during the moment of affection between the two holy figures.

"Wha…? Uncle?!" the Chosen cried out, reaching out for her elderly ally. "Uncle! Come with us, please!" she sobbed over the pounding in the background.

As Cashiel started down the ladder, trying to avoid looking up at the Archbishop while keeping a firm hold on the struggling Nerine, the now somber old church leader watched with filling regret and sadness.

"Go my children… The future rests in your hands." he said before going over and pushing the large open tile back into the position it had been in originally. It closed with a resounding slam. This slam was nothing, however, against the sound of the cathedral's doors being burst apart by a Desian battering ram, a noise which coincided with closing of the tile.

* * *

And, thus, the news spread across the world like a wild fire. The Sylvarant Dynasty had fallen, and rumors quickly spread that the Chosen had perished during the siege. It was as if a wave of sorrow had suddenly drifted over the land.

Before long, the Desians had taken to their evil deeds of collecting humans and taking them to build their massive bases, referred to infamously as the Human Ranches. It was unknown what truly went on in these sinister places, but when one went there, they never returned.

With no remaining known members of the Mana Lineage left for the world to lean on for quick salvation, the people of Sylvarant settled in to wait, accepting the rule of the Desians for the time being. Each night, every person across the planet prayed for the angels to birth a new Chosen One…

…except in one village.

5 years after the fall of Arlee, in Iselia, the Village of Oracles, a dim glimmer of hope still remained.

* * *

**Hi! Digital Dimension here, thanking you for reading Project-S Team's first fic, _Tales of the Fading Light_!**

**When I first started Project-S, I had no real idea what was going to happen. Before I even knew what was really happening, I had gathered my friends (Chang-Tong, FurudeRika, and noa784) and set out to make this little prequel. It was like starting a new adventure, even though my old ones weren't really over yet.**

**I have to thank those three galz, because their awesome ideas are what ultimately saved this from being a self-insert. XD They all gave ideas for the plot, characters, and happening, and will (hopefully) continue to do so into our future.**

**Well, thanks for reading once again! I hope I can count on everyone reading this to leave a review. _Even anonymous reviews are accepted!_**

**Just know, any and all flames shall be discarded and their producer shall be reported to website officials.**

**Review, plz!  
**


	2. Nerine

Disclaimer: The **Project-S Team**, which is comprised of FanFiction users **Digital Dimension**, **Chang-Tong**, **FurudeRika**, and **noa748**, does not own Tales of Symphonia or any other related and/or licensed material.

Any original characters were produced by the members of **PST**.

* * *

_**Tales of the Fading Light**_

_**Chapter 1: Nerine**_

Five years after the fall of Arlee, in Iselia, the Village of Oracles, the wheel of fate has once again started turning.

"Nerine, it's time for you to wake up." a stern, assertive voice claimed as the door to Nerine's wooden bedroom opened.

"…Nnngh?" a teenaged girl's voice groaned.

"Come now, you know what day it is. Get up, you're going to school."

"School? Why do…" the lethargic girl's voice started to gripe, but was cut off by its own yawn. "…Why do I have to go to school _today_, of all days?"

"Why do you complain about it?" the first voice returned as its owner opened the door and entered the bedroom. The person walked orderly over to a window on the side wall and threw open the shutters, letting the morning sun into the room

"Yaaah!! Cashiel!!" the girl yelped, immediately pulling her bedspread over her head.

The owner of the first voice, the ex-Imperial Guardsman, Cashiel Dantius, simply shook his head in disappointment at the sight of the hidden girl. He was wearing a white button-up undershirt that would normally go under a coat or a vest and a pair of brown travel pants that tucked nicely into his brown boots. He was thirty-one years of age now, yet his physical appearance had changed little over the five years since his flight from the capitol.

"For the love of Alexander, Nerine… Just get out of bed soon, would you?" he pleaded before making a quick exit, closing the door on his way out.

"Urrrrrrrgh…" Nerine, the Chosen of Mana and savior of Sylvarant, growled at her guardian. "Right away, Sir Stick-in-the-Ass…"

With that, Nerine tossed the quilt from over her, sending it straight to the floor. Recovering from her façade of being sleepy, she slid from the bed and onto the rather cold wooden floor. Running a quick hand through her raven hair, she turned to the mirror of the expensive vanity set one of the craftsmen in town had made for her. She had taken the set as a gesture of good will, back before she knew exactly why it was given to her. Now, whenever she looked at it, all she could see were the townspeople's stupid smiling faces gawking at her.

It was haunting, to say the least.

Almost subconsciously, the girl ran her brush through her thick raven locks that ran bushly to her shoulders until she was satisfied with what was there. Her hair liked to go astray whilst she slept, but she always managed to make it straight once again. While it troubled her that she needed this unwanted terror to do her hair in the morning, she was grateful that it at least served some sort of use.

After dressing herself in her usual attire, consisting of a thick, all-covering black top with golden trimmings and illustrious gold-colored stockings with ornate black designs accompanied by black travel shoes, Nerine exited her room and went down the stairs to the kitchen. The wooden stairs creaked, just as they always did, as she plodded down them steadily. She was taking her sweet time, being in no mood to be vigorous this morning, of all mornings.

Today was her sixteenth birthday, a day that, until five years ago, she had looked forward to. She had seen it as a rite of passage, but now… Now, all she wanted to do was strike the entire date from time's never ending wheel. In her mind, this could be one of two things. It could be the first day of the _end_ of her life, or it could be the first day of the _rest_ of her life.

"Steady, girl, steady…" she whispered to herself before hitting the last few stairs and entering the two-story house's fine kitchen. In the fine wooden abode, sitting at the dining table, were two of her least favorite people in the entire world. Her over-protective protector, Cashiel Dantius, and the oldest, wrinkliest, crinkliest, stupidest man she knew, the mayor of Iselia. While she was sure she had heard the man's name before, she had never taken care to remember it. To her, he was just the stupid mayor.

"Ah, and here she is!" the extremely old and extremely bearded mayor exclaimed, turning his chair to face her. While sitting, the man's long white beard almost touched the floor. It did not help that he was bowlegged and hutched over on a cane like a cripple either. Nerine silently thanked Martel that he did not try to come up and grab her, as he had done before. She hated it when people in general touched her, but she hated it even more when the mayor was involved. His old, clammy hands gave her goosebumps, and there were even times when he had grabbed at her breast or butt. Had she not already been an accredited liar, the old fool would be in chains.

But, alas, despite being the Chosen, she was no longer the nice little girl that had grown up in the beautiful metropolis of Arlee. No, that girl died during that horrific attack, just like the rumors said.

But, now was the time to play the part, nonetheless.

"Hi, Mr. Mayor! It's good to see you, again!" Nerine said in a cheery tone, seeming genuinely happy to see the old man. Her icy blue eyes seemed to almost radiate glee, a sight that Cashiel took notice of.

"Aha! It's good to see you, too, Nerine." the aged collection of sagging skin returned, a wide smile of what few yellow teeth were left decorating his face. "It seems Cashiel has made us a good breakfast here," he pointed out, motioning to the table. "Are you to join us this morning?"

It took quite a bit to think to resist the fine layout of eggs, bacon, and fresh milk that Cashiel had prepared, no doubt all for the mayor's planned visit today. Inwardly, Nerine cursed her caretaker for tempting her like this.

"Oh, I'd love to, but-"

"But she is almost late for school and needs to be going." Cashiel finished Nerine's excuse for her. It was not the one she had planned, but she appreciated the gesture. While he never truly understood her reasons for disliking the mayor, Cashiel refused to let her sit around and fake being nice to him. Thus, whenever feasible, he would come up with a cover story for her to avoid his presence.

Nerine's face lit back up to full brightness with Cashiel's excuse. "Yeah, I've got to get going!" she lied, turning to her guardian. "Have you seen my backpack, Cashiel?"

Cashiel gave her look as if she had just asked him a ridiculous question, which, in his opinion, she had. "Why would I have? Since when do you not take it up to your room when you scurry in here after school?" he asked with a huff, mocking the way the girl always retreated straight to her room the instant she arrived home.

"Well it wasn't in there, so I though I left it down here." Nerine clarified to the man. "Are you sure you haven't seen it."

"Positive." the ex-knight replied, indifferently. He acted like this whenever Nerine was irresponsible. Ever since it had become a chronic problem for to forget things, he had taken to not helping her find whatever it was she had forgotten.

"Well, I haven't seen it." the mayor noted, looking around the kitchen in a poor attempt to locate the missing bag.

Suddenly, Nerine's face changed to a palpable look of shock. "Oh! I must have left it at Ashleigh's house yesterday!" she stated in a voice that exuded astonishment.

"Who?" the mayor asked dumbly, scratching his half-bald head in a confused fashion.

"Ashleigh Burnor." Cashiel informed the old windbag. "She has been giving Nerine piano lessons."

"Yes," Nerine assured. "But she lives on the other side of town, so I better get going." she noted, making her way through the adjacent sitting area that was connected to the kitchen so that she could reach the door. "See you two later!" she called before passing through the door with a joyful face and a fleeting wave.

To the eating mayor's surprise, the door shut with a slam that shook the entire house. As if on instinct, Cashiel reached back a hand to catch a painting of Archbishop Alexander II that had been shaken from the wall.

"Well, she sure is optimistic." the mayor chuckled as he continued to eat. "I think she'll be a fine savior. Don't you Mr. Dantius?"

Cashiel placed the painting back in its proper place on the wall. "Maybe. That is what we've prayed for the past five years."

"See you two later!"

With that and a wave, Nerine closed the door with a satisfying slam.

"Yeah, I'll see you both in Hell." the Chosen added darkly to her farewell.

Without wasting time, Nerine started running towards Ashleigh's house. It was not a particularly long journey, only about a five minuet walk. That, in Nerine's mind, made it a two minute run. Iselia was pretty small when compared to the old capitol, but it had its rustic charms. This place was a lot more respectable than Arlee, but life was a good bit harder.

No matter what Nerine told herself, she could not help but miss her life as a noble in the old Dynasty. Before the attack, all her life had been was one big formal appearance. Not that she minded. Actually, she loved it. Back then, she had been naïve enough to believe that people liked her, not just her status. That took her back to the vanity set, and the accursed faces in the mirror. All those stupid smiles… They drove her absolutely insane.

"No more…" the running girl told herself between panted breaths as she came upon her piano instructor's house. With any luck, Ashleigh was still asleep, or at least not sticking her nosy head out of a window.

Quietly, trying not to make a scene, Nerine snuck up to the shrubs that ran alongside the decent-sized dwelling and reached her hand inside the row. She shuffled it around, doing her best not to prick her self on a stray thorn.

"Eek-!" the shriek came out unconsciously as the girl's finger was punctured by one of the very barbs she had been trying to avoid. She had kept it from growing full by clamping her other hand across her mouth, which was begging dearly to release the pain for her.

Knowing full well that Ashleigh might have heard the shriek, Nerine doubled her efforts to find her backpack, praying to avoid any more thorns. A glance of leather inside the bush gave her something to grasp and pull, granting the Chosen her "missing" bag.

There was no time to celebrate, however, as a sudden thud from inside the house alerted Nerine to get away. As she had planned beforehand, she made a mad dash behind the shed of the house next door. Not a moment too soon, either. Almost the very instant Nerine passed between the shed and its abandoned patron house, a window could be heard opening and Ashleigh's voice came pouring with cries of "Damn birds!!" and "I'll get ya'!!"

Nerine could not help but chuckle as she heeded the sound of the window closing. Once she was sure that Ashleigh was gone, Nerine ducked into the shed and opened up the backpack. She retrieved the new black shirt from it and was about to place it on the dusty floor, but she stopped herself short of dropping it. She would need this shirt clean.

With a sigh and a quick glance out the one window that face out towards the town, she stuffed the shirt back in the bag and set it on the ground. Then, acting as fast as she could, she stripped herself down to her underwear. The removal of the stockings did not go very smoothly, but she still managed to get them off in a timely manner.

Not wanting to spend more time than she had to in the dark little shed, she reopened the pack and took out the shirt and threw it over her body as fast as womanly possible. Then she pulled out her new pants. They were a plain shade of off-white and made from a fine fabric, same as the shirt. According to the tailor, its thick weave was able to flex quite well, not that she cared for that sort of thing. Still, it was nice to know that she wouldn't be hindered too much by her new clothes.

After getting pants on and securing them with a belt, she pulled one of the most critical elements of her disguise. It was a cheap pair of fake glasses. The main tell that they were fake was that when one put them on, they made no alteration to sight. They were a show model that she had sweet-talked the apprentice at the local infirmary into ordering for her from Triet. They consisted of just the nose supports and two flawless round pieces of glass, both fitting onto a thin metal frame. Putting them on, the Chosen was delighted to find that they fit her perfectly.

The next part of Nerine's disguise, and arguably the most important part, was the one item she had been required to steal. It was a pale yellow hat, the same kind the fishermen wore to keep their tackle in when they went to work. It was new and unworn, having been a gift that never reached its intended destination in a port city to the southeast. While she did not think it was exactly fitting of her person, she preferred it to cover her hair instead of a do-rag. The whole point of this disguise was to make her look like she was not from this city, so that the guards would not question her as she left.

After making sure the glasses were straight and not getting messed up by the hat, Nerine walked over to the back of the shed. There she had hidden her final pieces, her travel boots and quarter staff. The boots were made pretty basic tanned material that slid snuggly onto her tiny feet. Once she was comfortable, she picked the light wooden pole and gave it a few simple taps on the ground, making sure it was still sturdy.

"Too bad I don't have a mirror." Nerine mused as she put her formal clothes into her backpack. She would probably burn them later, or maybe put them on some lame looking scarecrow. Once everything was packed, she shouldered the bag and took a few coordinated peeks through the shed's window. "I bet I look completely ridiculous with this hat on…"

When everything was clear, she slipped out the door and made her way inconspicuously towards the rear of the village, which she could use to escape to Triet. She knew exactly where Cashiel would be at this time. She had spied him chopping wood in the woods around this time of day multiple times in the past, so why would today be any different? They were certainly in the need of some, or rather _he_ was.

That brought some other thoughts to Nerine's mind, but she did not dwell on them. She was coming up on the gate, where two dumb looking guys in some cheap leather gear stood guard, one with a short sword, the other with a pitchfork. Deciding to play it casual, Nerine gave them both a nod as she walked forward with the intention of passing straight through them without a single word. She even made herself look more natural by using her staff as a walking stick.

"Hold on!" one of the boneheaded guards called before Nerine could pass through completely. "I don't remember seeing you." he said, giving the disguised adolescent a few look-overs.

"Yeah, me neither." the other one agreed, doing something similar to his partner.

"Yeah, well, I don't remember you two, either." Nerine argued, altering her voice to sound like that of a frustrated woman in her mid-twenties. "Now, please let me through. I have to reach the refugee camp before tomorrow, or there's going be a delay!"

Both men seemed rather shocked at the fierce frustration in the girl's voice. The one with the pitchfork even backed off a few steps. It was times like this when Nerine really wanted to pat herself on the pack. She had always been a good actress, even before she realized that it could get her what she wanted. She used to go to the playhouse every week with the Archbishop, and now those times were paying off.

"Not so fast!" the one with the sword interjected, trying to fight off the confusion by shaking his head. "You've got the face of a girl, but the voice of woman. So, which is it?"

A look of anger and offense came to Nerine's face with this comment. "What?! Are you accusing me of something?! I am a guest of the mayor! Do I need to complain to him that you two are not being courteous to his guests?!"

That shut the suspicious buffoon up. His visage quickly went from distrust to panic as he looked to the pitchfork holding one for a way out. The other man merely held up one free hand and shook his head, not wanting to get involved with such a thing.

After a moment of switching glances at his partner and Nerine, the sword wielder begrudgingly bowed his head and backed away. He held his hand out, as if showing the masquerading Chosen the path. "Move along, ma'am."

"Thank you." Nerine expressed her gratitude, keeping her voice altered as she passed through the south gate of Iselia.

She kept her pace quick and constant for a good half an hour, wanting to get the village well out of sight before she even considered slowing down. When she made sure that there was no trace of the wooden township on the horizon, she stopped, put down her staff, and pulled the light pack from her back. Reaching into one of the smaller pockets, she found something she had prepared for the journey. It was a fine lettuce and tomato sandwich, preserved in this special material that Ashleigh had given her for being what she called "her star student." That was a title Nerine liked. She did quite adore playing the piano, even more than she did acting and performances.

Giving herself a conceited grin, she unwrapped the square delicacy and took a vigorous bite. She had not been able to forget being denied breakfast. It was all that stupid mayor's fault, and perhaps Cashiel's as well. Still, there was no need to sulk. She had easily managed to escape the village and was now on her way to getting away from everything. It was a feeling that gave some warmth to her heart, which she felt growing mighty cold in the months leading up to this day.

Deciding not to stay still for too long, Nerine quickly finished off the sandwich and stuffed the preserving cloth back in her bag. She closed the pocket, which still had three more sandwiches in it, and opened another. This time she drew a canteen, filled with good water from the well. She opened it and took a swig of the life-giving liquid, remembering that she would need it for the whole trip to the refugee camp between here and the desert. Placing the canteen back, she shut the pocket, put the backpack back on, retrieved her quarter staff, and started back on her way.

As she started her quick pace back, she looked back for a small moment. Iselia was gone from her view, which caused her grin to widen.

"Heh… So long, Iselia." she said, smug sarcasm dipping from her voice. This was getting to be the best birthday ever.

* * *

"What exactly are you saying? I'm not quite sure I understand."

Cashiel Dantius's tone was calm and patient, but his face was turning rather serious with contained anger.

"What are _you_ saying? I received your letter acknowledging the situation just a few days ago." the befuddled school teacher noted as he and the Chosen's guardian stood outside the only schoolhouse in Iselia.

"What situation? I haven't heard anything about Nerine's schooling in quite a while." Cashiel informed the teacher. "I simply assumed that she was doing well."

The teacher gave the knight a rather flabbergasted look. "Oh my! If you don't know then…" the man's voice failed as the blood drained from his face.

Cashiel, confused, put a hand on the astounded educator's shoulder, keeping him from falling down. "What is it? What's going on, man?"

"Mr. Dantius… I believe the two of us have been played for fools."

* * *

It was nearing mid-morning at this time, and Nerine was suddenly glad she had this hat, as it kept the sun out of her eyes at its current height. Her pace had gone from a fast stride to an easy walk. She would give a quick glance back every once in a while, making sure there was nobody following her.

Of course, the people following her were the least of her trouble.

On the path ahead of her were two unnerving looking men. They were too clean and well dressed to be bandits, but that did not rule out mercenaries, con men, or well-to-do bounty hunters. They both wore unsettling smirks, as if confident of their situation.

Still, Nerine refused to be daunted. If needed, she would deal with these two just like she had the ones at the gate. If they would not cooperate, then she would have to fight them. That was just the way things happen. It was the reason she had her staff.

The instant she fell within ten feet from the men, one of them spoke.

"That's far enough." the taller one, a green and blue wearing ruffian with greasy blond hair, told her in a voice that Nerine could easily identify with malice. He had metal spaulders on his shoulders, showing his ready for battle.

Nerine stopped without hesitation. "I don't care what you're selling." she told the speaker, altering her voice as she had at the gate. "I am in a hurry. Please let me pass."

"No can do, girly." the second one, a shorter man with identical facial features to his fellow, said in an equally malicious tone. He had no shirt, leaving his muscular body for the world to see. He had spaulders like the other one, and his pants were blue as well.

"We've been given specific orders to make sure you don't get out of the village." the first one explained, his face holding its sly smirk.

"And now that you've already left, there ain't no way we can let you go any further." the second one added, his similar smirk starting to creep into a cruel smile.

Nerine felt a chill pass down her spine. "Wha-What do you mean? I'm only a traveler, good sir-"

"Don't by coy with us, Chosen of Mana!" the taller man called out, his voice gaining a touch of madness. His calling of her title caused Nerine to take a step back and raise her staff in fright. "That's right! We know who you are! We know you…" he started as he reached behind his back and pulled a thick sword from a sheath worn in the back of his belt. "We know you and we're gonna kill you!"

The shorter man, his eye wide with a sort of lust, pulled a similar sword from behind himself as well. "We're the Demon Brothers of the East and we're gonna send you to Heaven early!"

Nerine did her best not to be paralyzed by the cold sweat that attacked her body. This was her worse case scenario. These men were assassins sent to kill her. Not only that, but they were obviously trained and strong. She had been training with her staff for a few years, but she did not have any real experience against a serious opponent. The closest things she had ever fought to real opponents were monsters in the forest.

But she would not give up! Trying to facilitate her nigh shattered nerves, Nerine took a battle stance. "Just- Just try it, you creeps!" she taunted, trying to dispel the quaking in her legs.

"Heh, she's frightened, Graham." the shorter one claimed, his voice growing frighteningly more intense. "Let me take her!"

The taller one, Graham, put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "No… You needn't bother yourself with this one, Max. Save your strength for the knight." Graham advised before stepping forward.

Nerine took a slight step backwards, trying to remember some of the combat details Cashiel had taught her. He had her at a disadvantage, being taller and having better reach. He was likely stronger than her, as well. Still, if she could just wait for the opportune moment…

"Now die, Chosen One!" Graham cried out as he rushed at Nerine in a berserker-like assault. His sword was held back, and his free arm was ahead of him. His eyes held a most crazed and evil look, reminding Nerine of nothing less than a demon.

Their gap closed in a mere second. Nerine felt her body tense as she tried to move, but her legs would not listen. The assassin raised his sword, ready to bring it down and complete his mission in one fell stroke. She closed her eyes and turned her head…

"Lightning!"

A sudden crash of electricity filled the air around them, followed by a blood curdling scream of pain. Nerine's eyes shot open, taking in what had just happened. Graham lay on the ground at her feet, his body bloody and slightly burnt.

"What the hell?!" the other assassin, Max, cried at the sight of his fallen sibling. He turned to face the source of the spell's called name, but he found nothing but empty field. Despite this, he kept facing in that direction, as if forgetting about his original target.

Seeing the furious man's distraction, Nerine realized that she now had a chance. She readied her staff and ran at Max as fast as her shaky legs could. When she was in range, she thrust the pole forward with a single arm, ramming the tip into the back of his head. A loud clunk sounded from the impact, and the stricken man jolted violently before stumbling forward loosely. Nerine followed it up by bringing the staff back and hoisting it over her head as she took a high leap. At the apex of her flight, she brought the staff down on top of muscled man's head, sending him crashing to the ground.

It was over. The staff quickly fell from Nerine's shaking hands as she landed, falling to her knees. Her breathing was ragged, and she suddenly felt very nauseous. Trying to focus, she brought her hands up to her eyes, which were wide with horror. Had she just killed a man? Her gaze rose to the downed man in before her. He was just laying there, blood running from the large abrasion on his crown. This was not part of the plan! Nobody was supposed to know she was alive outside of the village!

"Are you okay?"

"Wha-?!" Nerine jolted in the opposite direction of the unexpected voice, doing a pathetic scramble to escape. She looked up, expecting another assassin. What she found was very much not so.

"Oh… I'm sorry. I did not mean to frighten you, miss."

It was a young, exotic looking man. He had wavy white hair that sat on his shoulders. Poking from the sides of his hair were two elongated ears, showing that he was full-blooded elf. He wore a concerned face, his almond colored eyes scanning Nerine for injuries. Adorning him was a deep blue cloak, fitting for a mage of skill, over a blue tunic shirt and blue and white pants. Completing his make was a pair fitting white gloves and some basic brown boots.

"Is… Is something wrong, miss?" the elf asked, his voice containing a sense of bother. "I would prefer if you did not stare at me like that."

Nerine suddenly shook from her stupor, getting her mind back on path. "Ah- Oh! I'm sorry. I just… spaced out a bit there." she admitted, feeling embarrassed all of the sudden.

"Ah, I see." the elf said, nodding with understanding. He then tilted his head to the side slightly with a puzzled frown. "But... is everything alright?"

Nerine was hesitant to answer. Her mind was still a bit overwhelmed by what had just happened. "I... Yes." she claimed, standing abruptly. "Everything is just fine."

"Honestly?" The elf asked, raising an eyebrow. "Forgive me, it's just that you seemed quite panicked before..."

"Panicked?" Nerine asked, still wondering who the elf really was. "Well, you did sneak up on me right after I had just beaten down some assassins..." she noted, shifting blame to him.

The elf looked slightly amused at that. "My apologies, but if I had merely stood aside and watched, those two would have killed you by now," he frowned at this, showing that he's serious. He then sighed heavily, looking over to Graham's burnt body at where it was on the ground. "Normally I would not bring harm to other people, but there was no choice in this matter..." he murmured, mainly to himself.

"Oh... So that was you with the lightning, huh?" Nerine asked, scratching her head in embarrassment for forgetting such a thing. "I guess I should that you for that."

"No worries..." The elf said, turning back to face the teenaged girl, the troubled frown still on his face. "However, it is dangerous for you to be traveling alone. You should hurry back to Iselia, Chosen."

Nerine's eyes grew to resemble saucers at the elf's statement. "How... How do you know who I am?!" she asked, the terror of the assassins returning to haunt her.

The elf merely gestured to the dead assassins on the ground quietly. "I heard them yell so," he answered. "...and now I can assume that they are correct, judging from your reaction just now."

Suddenly registering the terror in the girl's eyes, he quickly held both of his hands up in a harmless gesture. "However, I have no means to bring harm to you, Chosen. I swear to you that."

"..." Nerine settled down, taking a deep breath, which helped considerably. "Okay then, whoever you are, but I'm not going back there!" she interjected, stating her intentions firmly. She had not come this far to be swayed back by some stranger.

"Sanos," the elf said quickly, in regards to her short remark in between her sentence. "My name is Sanos. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, Chosen."

He then regarded her quietly for a moment, seemingly wondering about something, before decided to chance asking. "And, if I may ask, Chosen... why would you refuse to return home?"

Nerine gave a slight chuckle, amused by Sanos. He didn't know anything, did he? "Sorry, Sanos, but I don't feel the need to explain myself to you."

"Then perhaps you can explain yourself to me, instead?"

Nerine felt prickly chill run down her spine. She turned slowly to face the new voice's origin, praying that it had been her imagination. Of course, Cashiel's almost murderous glare answered her prayer with what was equivalent to a boot to the face.

"Oh... Hey, Cashiel... Errr..." Nerine tried to quick-talk her way out, but her quick-thinking had decided to fail her at the moment. "...What are you doing all the way out here?" she asked in a lame tone, knowing that she was in for it.

The man tossed a small brown bag at the girl's feet. "You forgot your lunch."

* * *

**Digital Dimension here again! Sorry this took so long, but I've been bogged down with school and hardship. D:**

**But all is happy now! :D**

**On an interesting note, the end conversation between Nerine and Sanos is actually a role-play between Chang-Tong and me, so everyone needs to give our co-project lead a round of applause!**

**Review plz!**


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